


At work

by NohaIjiachi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, ocs for narrative reasons - Freeform, prompted by a very nice idea on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 21:57:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20181361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NohaIjiachi/pseuds/NohaIjiachi
Summary: “You know—“ Aziraphale replied, turning around with a pinched expression. “Lay low for a time. Let the gossiping die down.”Crowley did not reply, adjusting his glasses back up and focusing on his crosswords once more. Aziraphale sighed.“Maybe— I went a bit overboard,” he murmured, concerned.“Abit?” Crowley barked a laugh. “Angel, you are like a constantly-on lighthouse sitting smack in the middle of Soho, and everyone else are moths. I’d say that ‘going a bit overboard’ doesn’t quite cover it.”





	At work

**Author's Note:**

> [This adorable idea on tumblr](https://banrionceallach.tumblr.com/post/186525662562/after-the-apocalypse-is-cancelled-crowley-starts) had me clutching at my chest with feels and I _had_ to write something for it! Posted with OP's permission, hope you will enjoy : D

Jenny would ponder over this, regularly. She’d think about all the steps that brought her there, and how it seemed like a higher order, a predetermined destiny, _something,_ had been at work.

Fate. Or Faith, maybe. She could not decide. But she’d think about it, every now and then, with fondness and gratitude in her heart. She’d think about it as she walked down the aisle, Ashley smiling at her so brightly while she approached, and Jenny would see in the small crowd of guests a glimpse of a plump man who looked to be in his late forties, hair silver-y and curly, wearing the same camel coat he owned when she first met him.

But that was in the future, yet. For now, Jenny was running through Soho, trying and failing to shield herself from what was shaping to look like a proper storm, hunched on herself in an attempt to not soak herself throughly.

She didn’t know where her feet were taking her. She was too panicked to really think. She just went, and when the sky rumbled and the water poured so much she almost couldn’t see at all, she sought shelter in the closest dry place she could find. Which just so happened to be a certain bookshop that was, for once, actually open.

“Oh, dear,” a gentle voice said, as the door closed behind her. Jenny looked around, her eyes scanning the place. There were interminable rows and stacks of books everywhere, and they looked old. Expensive.

And she was dripping all over the place.

“I’m— Sorry,” she rushed to say, dragging her plastered hair away from her face. “I’ll get out—“

“Oh, good lord, absolutely not!” The gentle voice exclaimed, and she finally could see who it belonged to. The man wasn’t all that taller than her, and he was holding a very fluffy looking white towel in his hands, as he approached. “Not in this weather, dear! It’s raining cats and dogs! Here, let’s dry you up—“

The towel enveloped her like a warm hug, as the man gently guided her inside and then even deeper into the shop, pushing her delicately on an ancient looking armchair. He gave her a second towel she would swear hadn’t been in his hands at all.

“Stay right there, I’ll go put on the kettle,” he said, somehow fretting, as she dried her hair. “You must be freezing, poor dear—“ He added in a low mutter, disappearing behind a shelf.

Jenny blinked, taking the towel off her head and resting it in his lap. She felt already much more dry, and the bigger towel draped on her like a cape still felt warm, and somehow not heavy with moisture at all. A sense of calmness was slowly seeping into her when, by all means, she should be panicking even more. After all they always taught her not to trust strangers, especially excessively nice ones—

And yet as the man re-appeared suspiciously fast with a couple of steaming cups of tea on a tray, a plate of biscuits in the middle, she released a shuddering breath.

Somehow, she knew things would be all right.

They said nothing, but the silence wasn’t tense in the slightest, as they sat and drank. Jenny felt like she was warming up from the insides, and she peered at the man over the brim of her cup.

He looked— _Huggable_.

“Now, dear, mind to tell me what got you so disheartened?”

It was a simple question, one that should probably gain a simple answer which, logically, should’ve been ‘_none of your business_’. And yet, Jenny felt compelled to speak like an invisible force was gently fishing the words out of her throat.

And so she did, as the rain pit-patted on the windows. She told him of how she gathered courage to confess to her parents, to tell them about her girlfriend, Ashley— And of how they rejected and disavowed her, chasing her out of the house. She did so between tears and sobs she could not hold inside, and the man did not interrupt, not even once, his gray eyes full of something warm as he hummed and nodded in all the right places.

As she quieted down, already feeling a bit lighter, if still fearful, the man took a methodical sip of his tea, and then put the cup down.

“I’m very sorry your parents have treated you this way, dear,” he murmured, kind, and Jenny knew he was utterly, completely sincere. “Sometimes— People misplace their ability of understanding and loving. It just happens. It was not your fault, not at all.”

New tears rose to her eyes, but they were tears of gratitude, this time. She didn’t even know how _badly_ she needed to hear those words.

“I— Don’t know what to do, now,” she admitted, sniffing.

“That is quite alright, dear. But do not fret, you are not alone,” he replied, standing. He patted his waistcoat, and then fished out a couple of round spectacles from the pocket of his soft jacket, sliding them up his nose. “Let’s see— You are still a minor, so— Oh, I know. I’ll make just a quick phone call, dear. It’ll take only a minute.”

He disappeared yet again behind another shelf. Jenny relaxed against the impossibly still dry towel, and finished her tea.

Then, after she emptied her cup and ate a couple of biscuits, too, a frankly gigantic black and red snake casually slithered by, disappearing behind a corner.

“Um—“

“We are all set, dear!” the man said, reappearing once more with a piece of paper. “There’s a shelter not far from here that can take you in. It might sound scary, but I assure you that they are good people, and will treat you well. I’d let you stay, but I’m afraid I’m not well versed enough in the law to know what to do next, they will help you better than I possibly could,” he said distractedly, writing something down on the piece of paper. “Here’s the address— And my number—“ he murmured, tongue sticking between his lips in concentration as he leaned on the coffee table to write. “If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to call. You can stay until it stops raining, or I can accompany you right away, if you want.”

She accepted the paper, took a glimpse at the address —somehow, she knew already where it was— and carefully folded it, pocketing it in her now dry jeans.

“I— I think I will go right away, the rain it’s stopping, anyway. No need to walk me,” she said, somewhat breathless.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind—“

“It’s quite alright,” she said, and she was honest. “I feel much better already, I promise.”

They stood in front of the entrance as the last drops of rain died down, the man smiling with a simple warmth that made Jenny feel as if she was being enveloped in a gentle hug.

“Very well, dear. As I said, do not hesitate to call, if you need anything.”

She hummed, exiting and then stopped on the last step, suddenly hit by a thought. She turned.

“I didn’t even introduce myself,” she said, blinking.

“I guess you did not,” the man replied from the door, eyes crinkling in a somewhat secretive smile.

“I’m Jenny.”

“A. Z. Fell,” the man said, dipping down his head slightly. “It was a pleasure, meeting you. Mind how you go, dear.”

Later, after she arrived at the shelter, where they were already waiting for her, and got assigned to a specific social worker answering to the name of Annabel Williams, Jenny still felt slightly dazed.

“Could you please tell me in details what happened, Jenny?” Annabel asked, sitting in front of her in what was going to be, for the foreseeable future, Jenny’s own room.

“I— Stumbled into a book shop with no cash register, where a man that introduced himself with his initials and last name somehow managed to make me tell him my life story and then set me up to being taken care of in like, three minutes,” she said, more bewildered the more she thought about it. “And he had a giant pet snake that could’ve easily eaten me alive.”

Annabel laughed. But, Jenny realized, she wasn’t laughing _at_ her. She was just— Laughing, fondly.

“That’s Mr. Fell, then,” she declared, clearly familiar with the man. She was still smiling. “Don’t worry, he has that effect on everyone. Now, let’s go a bit more back about what happened to you, so we can see together what to do moving forward, all right?”

Jenny only saw Mr. Fell a couple of times after that first encounter, but in her life she would think about him, often, and thank whoever was up there for putting him right in front of her when she needed him the most.

—

**Lona92** _@simplylona _· 14min

I lost my passport in London and when I was walking around to see if I could find it while losing my shit a guy came out of a bookshop I absolutely did not visit and said that he found it on the floor I’m????

**Squiddy** _@frozententacles_

@simplylona

it alright friend, you just met our favorite cryptid, the #angelofsoho

**Lona92** _@simplylona_

@frozententacles

the what now

**AxelP** _@dochillax_

@frozententacles@simplylona

THE #angelofsoho STRIKES AGAIN

—

Markus wasn’t even paying attention to _where_ he was going, when he desperately ducked into the red door that just opened with a little jingle, letting out a furiously looking man in a dark suit.

“Really, dear,” someone inside said, as the door closed behind Markus. He looked around. There were so many books the sight was almost dizzying. “There was no need. You know I can take care of that, myself.”

“Yeah, I know. But it was funnier this way.”

The first voice sighed, as Markus walked over a shelf filled to the brim with books. There were two men deeper into the shop, one looking almost blindingly pearly in the semi-dark shop with his assortment of creamy coloured clothing and silver curls, and the other looking somewhat darker than the room itself with his choice of attire, wearing, for some reason, a pair of round sunglasses despite the lack of light, copper red hair spiked upward. The first one blinked at Markus, before smiling.

“Oh, hello!” he said, cheerful. The second man, taller and thinner, sniffed the air and then relaxed against a shelf like he didn’t know quite how to use his spine properly.

The first man walked toward Markus, hands collected against his belly. “Is something the matter?” He asked, and for some reason Markus felt immediately compelled to tell him exactly why he was into a shop he would usually spare not a second look for.

“It’s my ex— She’s following me around,” he sighed, nervously hugging himself. “She— I feel like she might do something really bad, today. She’s been stalking me since we broke up last year.”

Immediate shame pooled in Markus’ stomach. He long stopped asking for help. Everyone would always react with confusion or even surprised laughters, because how was it possible that a man was so afraid? His ex was so petite, how could she possibly hurt him? He was being ridiculous, really—

But the man with the silver hair did not react with confusion, nor laughed, nor waved him off. He blinked, his expression a mask of calm understanding.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he sincerely said, putting a plump hand on Markus’ arm. “You can stay as long as you need, dear. I won’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

The relief bloomed in Markus’ stomach, as his shoulder sagged. How long it has been, since anyone even attempted to try and _understand_? He let the man guide him toward a chair, falling onto it heavily.

“There we go, just relax. Everything will be alright,” the man murmured, and then turned toward the taller one. They looked at one another silently, before the taller one slunk himself off the shelf and exited the shop, his gait suggesting his legs might have no joints at all. “I promise you that, once you will go out, everything would be settled. You won’t have to worry anymore.”

It was a ludicrous declaration, Markus knew that, logically. And yet he didn’t doubt, not even for an instant. He knew that the man said the truth.

He stayed for about an hour, before the feeling of dread that he woke up with that morning finally lifted. The man had let him be, silently fluttering about the shop to take care of his books while humming little tunes to himself.

“I think— I think I can go, now,” Markus said, slowly. “I— Thank you.”

“Anytime, dear,” the man replied, giving him a gentle smile. “Take care of yourself.”

As he got out, he crossed ways with the taller man on the three steps leading up to the shop.

“Yo,” the man simply said with a curt nod, getting back in.

Markus did not feel in danger anymore. Later that week he found out through a mutual acquaintance that his ex had admitted herself in a support group for rage control. She apologized sincerely for the way she acted some months later, and he forgave her.

He never felt in danger anymore. He never went back to the bookshop. He met the two men in St. James, once, and they both nodded at him as they walked by, before falling back in their clearly intense debate about the merits of un-salted soy sauce.

Markus smiled to himself, and kept feeding the ducks.

—

**bunwun**

[blurry picture taken through a window of a man sitting at a desk surrounded by books. He looks to be in his late forties, hair so blond it appears white, dressed with an ancient looking waistcoat and jacket, round glasses perched on top of his nose. A black snake with a red belly is draped over his shoulders, head resting on top of the man’s.]

You’ve been visited by The Snake Man Of Good Blessings. Reblog for ten years of luck.

**floraloffice**

!!! THIS GUYS IS REAL! I have to show this post to my friends, this guy totally saved my ass when I got lost in Soho with my phone refusing to work. He just took it, turned it around and gave it back to me perfectly working and fully charged and lfsdkjfsdl no one believed me!!!

**kassiaandra**

Seeing this post float around is so weird. I always see this guy in St. James. He has a husband. They look like they mix as well as oil and water and are absolutely adorable.

**tippitytaptip**

To those in the notes that are calling bullshit: I’m usually with you. These kind of “reblog for X thing to happen” posts are usually bullshit, and this is as well, but let me tell you about the man in this picture.

He’s a local legend. He’s got a bookshop that has been there since forever, he doesn’t sell a single book, and he helps people. He just does that.

If you know anyone that lives in Soho, ask. They will know exactly who are you talking about. He’s like a living beacon of goodness, people in trouble just flock to him without even knowing why. One of my best friends forgot his epi-pen and was having a reaction in the pub across the street and I witnessed this man running out of his bookshop like his heels were on fire with my own two eyes, storming in with an epi-pen. I know it sounds unbelievable, I wouldn’t believe myself if I wasn’t there. I’ve heard so many stories about him, he even has an hashtag on twitter. (#angelofsoho. Look it up, the stories shared there are hilarious and amazing.)

Also yes, he has a pet snake, and a husband. I saw both.

**twistedsalty**

has anyone noticed how the husband and the snake are never seen at the same time? cryptid guardian angel with his cryptid shapeshifter husband im calling it you’ve heard it here first

_98,456 notes_

—

Holly didn’t want to, she really didn’t— But the bills were just _sitting there_, openly visible from the window, and she heard mom cry last night, she knew they were late on rent— She slunk into the shop, nervously looking around.

It seemed completely empty, only rows and precarious looking columns of books scattered all over the place. She stood still, waiting for even a single noise betraying a presence.

Nothing.

Moving on her tip-toes, she approached the counter. The small stack of bills was there— Were those f_ifty pounds_? She never even saw a fifty pound bill in her entire life—

She put her trembling fingers over the bills, dragging them toward herself like she was afraid they might start to scream accusations, and then a bloody enormous black and red snake seemed to literally drop from the ceiling, hissing loudly at her. Holly let out a shriek, falling on her bottom.

“What the— Oh,” said a man, from somewhere behind her. “Oh, dear—“

Holly let out a terrified whimper as the snake slid off the counter, tongue darting out repeatedly. Steps rapidly echoed from behind her, and then a camel coloured pair of slacks appeared in her field of vision. Gentle hands landed on her arms, helping her back up on her feet.

“I’m sorry my friend gave you such a scare, dear—“ the voice belonged to a man that looked to be in his late forties, who bent down and offered an arm. The snake coiled around it, sliding up to go rest on the man’s shoulders. “He looks spooky, but he’s not dangerous, I promise.”

The snake stuck it’s tongue in the man’s ear almost pointedly, and the man shuddered, before gently swatting at the snake’s snout.

“I—“ Holly sniffed, trembling. “I’m—“

The snake hissed again, and she recoiled. The man blinked, gray eyes studying her for some silent seconds.

“…Why don’t you come sit down with me, dear? You look awfully pale. I’ll make you something to drink, you will feel better.”

He introduced himself as Mr. Fell as he handed her a glass of cold, sweet mint tea. She sipped it slowly, feeling immensely better right away, and yet too ashamed to meet his eyes.

“Holly— What a beautiful name,” he said, once she found the courage to introduce herself. “Say, Holly, are you busy? I could really use the help of a young pair of eyes like yours. I will pay you for your time, of course.”

“…What?” Holly replied, flabbergasted.

“Fine prints,” the man sighed, still wearing the snake over his shoulders. It seemed to have decided to go for a nap. “A real curse. My sight isn’t as keen as it was used to be, quite a dismal ordeal, let me tell you.”

“I— Ok, sure,” she replied, breathless. She finished the mint tea, and silently followed.

They spent twenty minutes side by side at a messy desk, Holly reading a page of what looked to be some kind of bible printed in excessively small letters, and the man writing down, humming. When they were done, he guided her toward the counter and handed her the entire stack of bills she earlier attempted to steal.

“Um—“ Holly said, eyes huge.

“—That was tremendously helpful, dear,” the man said as if continuing a specific discussion, sounding cheerful, as he guided her to the exit. “Jolly good. If you ever need it, I could use your aid again, in the future! Keep that in mind!”

She got back home, not daring to look at the money in her backpack in fear she might’ve dreamed the whole thing. But once she was finally inside, she took the stack of bills out with fearful fingers.

They were enough to cover this month’s rent and groceries. Tears swelled in her eyes.

Later that night, when she gave the money to her mother, she had to tell a little white lie. Say she found a part-time job but didn’t tell mom because she knew she’d worry.

It could be a truth, after all. Holly spent the last week of school and her summer vacation visiting the bookshop every other day, helping Mr. Fell around with tasks she knew he could do perfectly well on his own. Sometimes the snake would be there, sometimes not, sometimes another man that introduced himself as Anthony would be there, always wearing sunglasses and lounging on one of the armchairs, handing her candies at regular intervals.

When the new school year started her mother had received a promotion, they had moved out of the cramped apartment, and she did not need to visit Mr. Fell’s shop anymore. She went one last time with a full box of handmade cupcakes, and Mr. Fell looked like she was handing him the moon.

Much later in her life, when she was starting to be a rather known writer of young-adult novels, she would recall that summer with fondness. She promised herself that, one day, she would write a fable: About a kid in trouble, and the real angel with his husband and their friendly snake that looked-dangerous-but-really-wasn’t who helped the kid.

It would be a smash hit.

—

**Ten Amazing Social Media Posts That Will Make You Want To Visit London**

By GabeGab

community contributor

_It started as sparse recollection of misadventures with a good ending that shared a very specific element: The colloquially called Angel Of Soho (also known as The Kind Cryptid, The Snake Man)_

_These stories will warm your heart, make you cry with laughters or just make you cry. But one thing is certain: After you read these, it will be really hard to resist the temptation to book a vacation in London and go snoop around the district of Soho!_

See the list.

—

“Do you think I should— Tone it down?”

Crowley looked up, letting his glasses slid down his nose. Aziraphale had just gently _discouraged_ yet another wannabe journalist that knocked for an interview, watching him go away with that glazed over look they always wore when Aziraphale deployed the subtle deterring tactics.

“What?”

“You know—“ Aziraphale replied, turning around with a pinched expression. “Lay low for a time. Let the gossiping die down.”

Crowley did not reply, adjusting his glasses back up and focusing on his crosswords once more. Aziraphale sighed.

“Maybe— I went a bit overboard,” he murmured, concerned.

“A _bit_?” Crowley barked a laugh. “Angel, you are like a constantly-on lighthouse sitting smack in the middle of Soho, and everyone else are moths. I’d say that ‘going a bit overboard’ doesn’t quite cover it.”

Aziraphale shifted around on his feet, looking properly chastised, and Crowley groaned.

“I meant that as a friendly teasing, I wasn’t scolding you,” he said, abandoning the crosswords in favor of standing up and approaching his Angel. “You don’t wear guilt well, Aziraphale.”

“But— You have a point,” Aziraphale replied, voice low. “I was just so— That sudden _freedom_— It felt like finally tasting air after being kept in a cage for a lifetime without knowing it.”

“I know.”

“Maybe I should stop…”

“Do you _want_ to stop?”

“…No.”

“Then don’t.”

Crowley knew he was being followed with a pointed gaze, as he walked past Aziraphale to go flip the sign of the shop on ‘closed’. (Not that it mattered much, these days.)

“Crowley—“

“You are doing something that makes you happy and makes _them_ happy,” Crowley replied, turning on his heels all snake like, a thumb pointed toward the entrance door. “In my book, that’s all that matters.”

After a handful of long, silent seconds, Aziraphale finally relaxed with a sigh, shoulders sagging. A tilted smile pulled at his lips.

“You will spoil me, just letting me do as I please—“

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley murmured, positively devilish. “Spoiling you has always been my favorite part.”

He approached as he spoke, Aziraphale putting a hand on his hip with the smile turning _knowing_.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Huh-huh. That’s what I do. Tempt and spoil,” Crowley replied, voice lowering even more as he pushed his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“You wily old Serpent,” Aziraphale sighed back, letting his eyes flutter close.

No one came knocking in need of help, that evening. Every now and then, time was just for them.

It never lasted long, yes.

But Crowley was completely ok with it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://nohaijiachi.tumblr.com/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NohaVale) and [Pillowfort!](https://www.pillowfort.io/NohaIjiachi)


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